


and what was just a world is a star

by iwaihajim



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Romance, Theatre, i wrote this mostly in one sitting, iwaizumi is dumb, no beta we die like men, they say write what you know well i know theatre, theyre theatre kids ok all of them, tiny bit of angst like not even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaihajim/pseuds/iwaihajim
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime had a big problem. Their high school was putting on West Side Story, and Iwaizumi had accidentally fallen in love with the lead.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	and what was just a world is a star

**Author's Note:**

> i was talking w my friend about writing fic and about how to write what you know...well i know theatre so this is the iwaoi theatre kid au no one asked for

Hajime hated rehearsals. He had only been roped into helping out the school musical by his stupid best friend. He glared at the stage from his spot in the auditorium, anger seeming to come off of him in waves.

“Why so sulky, Iwaizumi-san?” 

Hajime whipped his head around, embarrassed at being called out, but relaxed when he saw who spoke. “I, um, just don’t like this show,” he muttered to Akaashi, who had sat next to him. “Shouldn’t you be in the pit right now, rehearsing?”

Akaashi waved a hand to the stage. While Hajime was distracted – not sulking, shut up – the actors had been given an accidental break as their director corrected Bokuto’s lines and blocking, _again_. If he wasn’t such a talented dancer, Hajime doubted he would have gotten the role, though he would never say such to Bokuto nor Akaashi.

“Shouldn’t _you_ be building the set right now?” Akaashi asked Hajime in turn. He heaved a sigh. “Hinata and Kageyama keep squabbling about costumes, so the rest of us just kind of wandered away.” Akaashi nodded in understanding. Hinata, an energetic first-year, can’t sing, dance, or act his way out of a paper bag, so he was apprenticing under Asahi, their costume director. And, as usual when it came to Hinata, Kageyama was mad. Probably his shoelaces were from the wrong time period, or something equally ridiculous. Even poor, patience-of-a-saint Asahi was getting tired of the constant bickering.

Both Hajime’s and Akaashi’s focus was redirected by Ukai-sensei, one of their directors, clapping to get everyone’s attention to restart the scene. Hajime waved goodbye to Akaashi as the quiet young man slipped back into the orchestra pit in preparation.

Hajime was thus free to resume trying to set the stage on fire with his mind. When Oikawa, his best friend (“your only friend, Iwa-chan!”), told him that their school was doing West Side Story and Oikawa had been casted as Maria (“it’s technically Mario, Ukai-sensei wanted us to be outside of the box”), Hajime was nothing if not supportive. He didn’t realize that best friend duties included watching Oikawa be dipped into a kiss by Kuroo, who was playing Tony.

Hajime shook himself out of that particular rabbit hole, resigning himself to be the one to venture backstage and separate Hinata and Kageyama so the show could go on.

Hajime and Oikawa walked home after rehearsal, like every day, Oikawa humming his songs to himself. “Iwa-chan, will you practice lines with me?” he said suddenly, grabbing his best friend’s jacket sleeve. Hajime made a face and shook him off. “You know I’m shit at acting, Trashykawa,” he grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You’re just shy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I already told my mom that you’re coming over.” Hajime had no choice but to follow.

In Oikawa’s bedroom, Hajime sprawled out on the futon, full of the extra portions of barbeque Oikawa’s mom had stuffed him with. He had almost forgotten about his promise to help Oikawa memorize his lines, until Oikawa grabbed his hand and tugged him up to stand. “Iwa-chan, you have to act this scene out with me,” he insisted, shoving a script into Hajime’s arms and pointing to the top of the page. “Scene four,” Oikawa added unnecessarily, prompting Hajime’s mutter of, “I can read, stupid.”

“Then prove me wrong and say Tony’s line,” Oikawa responded, earning himself a swat on the back of the head before Hajime read, stiltingly, Tony’s lines.

“You’re not thinking I’m someone else?”

Oikawa, falling into his role as easily as slipping on a robe, took a step closer to Hajime. “I know you are not.”

“Or that we have met before?”

“I know we have not.”

If Hajime concentrated, he felt like he could hear the orchestra playing the music underneath the scene. “I felt, I felt, I knew something-never-before was going to happen, had to

happen. But this is –“

  
“My hands are cold,” Oikawa interrupted. He knew it was in the script, but Hajime was still a little stunned as Oikawa reached for his hands, forcing Hajime to keep the script in one hand. “Yours, too.” There was a pause, Oikawa waiting for his cue, before he murmured to Hajime, “You’re supposed to take my hand and put it on your face.”

“R-right,” Hajime said, cupping Oikawa’s long-fingered hand to bring it to rest against his cheek, which, Hajime was sure, was on fire right about now.

“So warm,” Oikawa said, and it took Hajime a moment to remember that it was only his lines. Oikawa tilted his head down a little, taking Hajime’s hand in his and bringing it to his own face. Feeling like he was in a fog, Hajime distantly noted how soft Oikawa’s cheek was.

“Y-Yours too,” he stammered out the line with a belated look at the script.

“But of course,” said Maria/Oikawa. “They are the same.”

“It’s so much to believe. You’re not joking me?”

Oikawa’s brown eyes seemed to be made of magnets – Hajime couldn’t look away.

“I have not yet learned to joke that way,” Oikawa said softly, “I think now I never will.”   
  
_Impulsively, he stops to kiss her hands; then tenderly, innocently, her lips. The music bursts out, the lights flare up, and Bernardo is upon them in an icy rage,_ Hajime reads from the script. Unconsciously, he wets his lips, and finds that Oikawa’s eyes are drawn to them. Hajime, carefully, as if handling glass, raises Oikawa’s hand in his and presses it to his lips. “Tooru! It’s getting late, is Hajime sleeping over?” Oikawa sprang away as if he had been doused with a bucket of icy water. “She’s right, I should be getting back home,” Hajime said, clearing his throat awkwardly, placing Oikawa’s script onto his desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal,” Oikawa said suddenly, laying a hand on Hajime bicep. It succeeded in stopping him in his tracks. “Yeah, of course,” Hajime replied gruffly, turning his face away and tearing out of the room. The walk home was brief but contemplative. Usually he slept over at Oikawa’s or vice-versa, so it’s not often he walks this path alone in the dark. Hajime took the opportunity to do a bit of pondering. He had only ever thought of Oikawa as a friend – as his best friend. Why, then, all of a sudden, was he acting like an idiot around him? Everyone knew that out of the two of them, Oikawa was the idiot. It didn’t make sense, Hajime despaired, and resolved not to think about the matter again as he fell into bed. 

Everything went back to normal the next day, as if the strange, dreamlike occurrences from last night, much like the dream scene in West Side Story, did not occur. Oikawa was his same shallow, clingy self, draping himself over Hajime in the cafeteria as they all ate lunch together. “Get off of me, Crappykawa,” Hajime grumbled with no real heat, cringing away a little at the loud smacking sounds of Oikawa devouring a rice ball. “Iwa-chan, you’re so mean to me,” Oikawa pouted, but acquiesced, sliding into his own seat. Across from them, Hanamaki and Matsukawa gaped at each other. It was rare that Oikawa stops bothering his precious Iwa-chan only after the first complaint.

“I can’t wait for opening night,” Oikawa was saying, swinging his long legs back and forth a little. “I have an idea! You two,” he swiveled an accusing finger at Hanamaki and Matsukawa, the former of which nearly dropped his profiterole. “We’re already building the set for your show, Oikawa, isn’t that enough?” Matsukawa cut him off, rolling his eyes.

  
Oikawa continued as if he had not been interrupted, “You two should make posters. And get kids to come see West Side Story. It’s gonna be really good.” He waggled his finger back and forth.

“Iwaizumi, do you even like the show? I thought you hated musicals,” Hanamaki said, purposefully ignoring Oikawa. “It’s not bad,” Hajime admitted with a shrug. “It’s grown on me.”  
  


In his peripheral vision he could see Oikawa staring at him. “Aww, Iwa-chan likes the show! I’m so happy.” He bounced up from his chair and wandered away, humming to himself with a smile.

Hanamaki leaned in like he was about to share a secret. “Something’s different about you two,” he said, lips stretching into a smile that was all teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Iwaizumi grunted, grabbing his bag and making for a quick escape. “Bye.”  
  


Matsukawa’s laugh followed him out of the cafeteria.

__

The closer it got to opening night of the show, the more of a wreck Oikawa was. Hajime didn’t have to be his best friend to see how he was deteriorating. Even Ushijima, a piccolo player in the orchestra and Oikawa’s worst enemy (according to Oikawa) had expressed concern about Oikawa’s wellbeing. Hajime had never seen such a dedicated performer. Oikawa spent all his lunches and free periods rehearsing in the auditorium, more often than not alone, but occasionally dragging behind him some unlucky soul to practice their scenes. Many times, this unlucky soul was Kuroo, and Hajime seethed as he pictured them rehearsing all of their romantic scenes. 

“Your frown is going to break the props, Iwaizumi,” Sugawara Koushi called from in front of him where they were seated, busy putting the finishing touches on a set piece. “I’m not frowning,” frowned Hajime, holding up two paint swatches to the light to compare them.

“Use the lighter color, Iwaizumi,” came a voice from behind them, and Sawamura Daichi came into view, plopping down on the floor next to the jukebox being painted. He was still wearing his Officer Krupke after finishing the scene. “And don’t get paint on my costume, because Asahi will kill me.”

“You’re not that replaceable, Daichi,” Sugawara laughed, before turning sly eyes onto Iwaizumi. “Speaking of killing, how is Tooru?”

Hajime jumped at the mention of his name. “He’s fine, why?” he asked suspiciously. Why was Sugawara using Oikawa’s first name? Hajime didn’t even use his first name like that. Were Sugawara and Oikawa always so close? When did this happen? Was it during rehearsals? No, it couldn’t have been, Suga is a stagehand. Well, stagehands can still have romances with the actors…

“…Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi!” Fingers snapped in front of Hajime’s face. “You never daydream, where did you go?” chuckled Daichi, exchanging a glance with Sugawara.

“Nowhere,” Hajime responded stiffly, his cheeks pinking a little.

“Anyway,” Sugawara continued blithely, as Hajime tried to look uninterested, “I was only asking because him and Kuroo seem pretty close. They have real chemistry onstage – I feel like those kisses are so real?”

Hajime gripped his paintbrush so hard, it snapped in half.

__

“You’ve been in a foul mood all week, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complained, waiting at the door of the auditorium for Hajime to get all his stuff.

“No, I haven’t been.” He absolutely had been. Every time he saw Oikawa interacting with Kuroo, he felt his blood pressure spike. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Oikawa.”  
  


“Ha!” Oikawa crowed, “There it is!”

Hajime felt like a deer in the headlights, even without knowing what “it” was. “It” was never anything good in that tone of Oikawa’s voice.

“What is _it_?” Hajime dared to ask as they turned into their neighborhood.

“You never call me Oikawa. It’s always Trashykawa or Shittykawa or Crappykawa or Stupidkawa or Uglykawa-“

“We get it,” Hajime cut him off.

“My point is, you never call me Oikawa unless you’re serious. Something must be really bothering you, Iwa-chan. Want to talk about it?”

God, where did he get off suddenly being so observant and caring? 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hajime ground out, trying to lengthen his stride a little. Oikawa, curse him, had no problem keeping up.

“Is it something to do with me? Iwa-chan, talk to me. You’ve been moody and upset and I don’t want us to fight.”  
  
“We’re not fighting.”  
  
“Iwa-chan!”   
  


Oikawa had had enough. Whirling around, he grabbed onto the collar of Hajime’s jacket, shaking him a little. “We’re best friends! Whatever this thing is, snap out of it or work it out. You’ve been distant and weird and I hate it. Iwaizumi.”

Hajime looked away, and was silent for a long moment. Then: “It’s not like you need me, you have Kuroo.”

Oikawa stared at him for a beat, then burst out laughing. Irritated, Hajime shoved Oikawa away from him until he fell to the ground with a satisfying yelp. He scrambled to get up and chase after Hajime down the street. “Iwa-chan! You’re jealous! Because I was spending time with Tetsu-chan!”

Hearing Oikawa say _Tetsu-chan_ was like nails on a chalkboard. Damn, when did he get so territorial? Hajime wondered.

“We’re just actors on a stage, Iwa-chan, you know that, right? It’s like being friends with a coworker.” Oikawa had stopped giggling and turned serious again. Hajime couldn’t decide which side of Oikawa he hated less. “You’ll always be my best friend, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cried, until Hajime hissed at him to shut up, Shittykawa, you’re going to wake up the entire street.

Hajime spent the night at Oikawa’s again. This time, when he woke up, he wasn’t as grumpy as usual.

__

Hajime was getting concerned for his friend. Oikawa seemed to have permanent dark shadows under his eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. He was so anxious for the show that he was looking over his script in every single class instead of paying attention. Hajime, ever a good friend, helped him with the homeworks. It was tech week, and every member of the drama club seemed to be under pressure to memorize last-minute choreography and cues and costume changes. Even their capable stage manager, Takeda-sensei, was so wound up that he accidentally caused a couple of first-years to cry.

It didn’t help that now Bokuto had adopted Oikawa’s bad habit and kept dragging him, Hajime, and poor Akaashi to help run choreography during lunchtime.

“Bokuto-san, I don’t think your death flop is realistic enough,” Akaashi was advising through bites of nanohana. Bokuto sprang up from where he was pretending to be dead on the floor of the stage. “Hahh? My death is very realistic!” he cried, offended. “I think he means that you collapse too suddenly, Bokuto,” Hajime advised, turning to Oikawa for his input.

Hajime’s mouth dropped open. Instead of being next to him, as Hajime thought Oikawa was located, he was instead walking onstage wearing a – Hajime swallowed noisily – a _dress_. “This idea for an edgier West Side Story is getting out of hand,” Oikawa complained, running a hand through his hair. The soft white dress he was wearing suited him oddly well. It accentuated the lean tilt of his legs and dipped a little in the front to expose the smooth skin of his chest. On a woman, it would have brushed the tops of her cleavage. Despite the absence of tits, Hajime felt like he couldn’t look away. Was this a normal reaction?

“Woah, Oikawa, your butt looks good!” Bokuto hooted, falling over himself with laughter, the prop knife in his hand nearly forgotten. Both Akaashi’s and Hajime’s heads snapped towards where Bokuto was cackling. What surprised Hajime was how murderous Akaashi looked in the moment, before he abruptly stood up, packing his lunch away and excusing himself with a polite bow and murmured farewell. Bokuto gaped, chasing out of the auditorium after him. “Akaaaaaaaaaashi! Where are you going?!”

Oikawa giggled, his legs dangling off Maria’s fire escape, where he was supposed to be romanced by Tony on the street below. Hajime slowly packed up his lunch before approaching the set piece, looking up at Oikawa. “You’re not actually wearing the dress, are you?” Hajime ventured, trying to look anywhere except the miles of leg stretched out near his head. “Ukai-sensei wants me to.” Oikawa stared down at Hajime. “What do you think, Iwa-chan?” His voice was completely serious, and Hajime swallowed hard again. “I-I think it’s a little indecent, Trashykawa,” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the soft lace hem of the dress. “You’ll be in front of everyone, and no one needs to see you like that.” Hajime felt a flush creeping up his neck and fought to keep a straight face.

Oikawa took this opportunity to swing down from the fire escape and land next to Hajime, brushing invisible dust off the white cotton dress. “It’s not as comfortable to dance in,” he admitted, and Hajime breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to sit through four consecutive shows, preluded by countless dress rehearsals, of Oikawa in a dress. It was too much.

Oikawa grinned widely before going to change back into his uniform pants. Somehow, even though Oikawa’s legs weren’t showing for the entire world to see, Hajime felt like he lost this one, somehow.

__

Hajime could barely sit still in his seat. As a loyal friend, he had dragged out both his and Oikawa’s entire families to watch the show on opening night. Luckily, kids like Hajime who volunteered to help build the set were given free admission, so at least he didn’t have to worry about being too broke after going to each show.

The curtain opened on the streets of New York City, with the Jets (consisting of Bokuto, Akaashi, Tanaka, Kageyama, and Hinata) snapping their fingers and dancing onstage. Hajime seemed to observe the first several scenes without actually looking at it. When Oikawa came onstage, his breath caught in his throat.

Hajime had made sure to secure prime spots, close enough to the stage to see the actors, but not too close to hear them panting after a difficult dance number. From this far away, Oikawa seemed to almost shimmer under the harsh stage-lights. His hair had been brushed out and curled a little, and he was wearing makeup that accentuated his cheekbones. Hajime could only be glad that he was not wearing a dress.

The rest of this show was going to be torture.

“Iwa-chan, did you like it? What did you think?” Oikawa was practically bouncing up and down in the dressing room as he dragged a makeup wipe over his face. “Yeah, it was good. Everyone did a great job,” and this last phrase was addressed to the room at large, many of whom had never received a genuine compliment from Hajime before.

“I know I’ve heard you sing before, but you sounded really good onstage,” Hajime grunted on their way home suddenly. The compliment sounded as if it had been stuck halfway in his throat. Oikawa beamed, throwing his arms around Hajime and squeezing him. “Iwa-chan, you have no idea how much that means to me,” Oikawa murmured in his ear, briefly laying his head on Hajime’s shoulder as they embraced in the middle of the street. Hajime, feeling his heart rate pick up to a dangerous pace, disentangled himself gently from Oikawa’s clutches, missing the look of hurt and disappointment flashing across Oikawa’s face.

Closing night was just good as opening night, if not better. Hajime could barely focus, his mind wandering to what was held tightly in his lap. He led the standing ovation, whooping and clapping especially loudly for Oikawa, the darkness of the auditorium keeping him hidden.

“These are for you,” Hajime muttered, thrusting the flowers he had been holding onto, into Oikawa’s chest, who barely caught them. Immediately, his eyes began watering. “Iwa-chaaaaaan, I can’t believe you got me flowers on closing night,” he sniffled, and Hajime glanced around to make sure no one heard that. “It’s no big deal, uh, but you were really good in all the shows, so. Yeah. Flowers. The internet said it was normal to give to actors, but if you hate them, I can just take them back-“  
  
“Don’t you dare!” Oikawa wailed, holding the flowers close to his chest. “I love them so much I’m going to treasure them forever.”  
  
“They’ll die eventually, Stupidkawa,” Hajime said, but Oikawa didn’t care.

“Oh! By the way,” Oikawa said, skipping to catch up, holding his bouquet carefully in one hand. “Bokuto and Akaashi started dating.”  
  
Hajime looked at Oikawa in disbelief. “No way. I didn’t even know either of them, y’know…”  
  
“Swung that way?”

Hajime nodded.

“Not all of us are as dense as you are, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa trilled in response to this, ducking the smack coming his way. “Anyway, apparently that one time that Bokuto said my ass looked good, Akaashi got super upset and jealous and Bokuto promised to never look at anyone else’s bum ever again.”  
  
In spite of himself, Hajime let out a loud peal of laughter. “Good for them. Akaashi’s been pining so hard, I think he was getting to the point of writing ‘Mr Bokuto Keiji’ in his math notes.”

Oikawa’s laugh faded away. “Have you ever been jealous like that, Iwa-chan?”

Under scrutiny, Hajime squirmed uncomfortably as they both silently settled into Hajime’s bedroom. “No,” he lied, concentrating on hanging up his jacket on the back of his chair.

Oikawa’s voice came from directly behind him. “I think you’ve been jealous a little bit recently, Hajime.”

Hajime. Oikawa had never used Hajime’s first name before. He sucked in a breath, turning around to find himself nearly nose-to-nose with his best friend. “I wasn’t jealous,” he denied.

“Iwa-chan, sometimes I think that you need more fiber in your diet, it can’t be healthy to be this emotionally constipated.”  
  


“Shut up, or you’re sleeping on the floor!”

__

Hajime couldn’t stop thinking about what Oikawa had said. Now that they didn’t have rehearsals, Hajime had a lot of spare time on his hands, most of which was spent playing video games and thinking about what to do about his Oikawa situation.

On the one hand, Oikawa was naturally flirtatious with everybody. It didn’t mean anything, Hajime was sure. He refused to be just one of Oikawa’s conquests, or one of his groupies fluttering around him in the halls.

On the other hand, Oikawa hasn’t had a girlfriend in a while. He never went out with Kuroo, either, even though Hajime was sure that Kuroo wouldn’t turn him down if Oikawa had asked. He was constantly affectionate with Hajime, but that didn’t mean that he liked Hajime in any way other than as a friend.

Hajime groaned, adjusting his position and wrapping his hands around his controller. It was ridiculous how attractive Oikawa was, he lamented. Oikawa was so smart, and funny, too, that it was hard to _not_ get pulled into his gravitational orbit. Surely, he could never be interested in Hajime. He should have someone beautiful, like Akaashi.

This train of thought led him to wonder about Bokuto and Akaashi. On the outside, both seemed like opposite sides of the spectrum. Akaashi was contemplative and cunning. He crept around like a ninja, even when dragging with him his giant cello. Bokuto, on the other hand, might die if he had to be subtle in any situation. Being quiet was simply not in Bokuto’s DNA. However, they were clearly a good match for each other. Regardless of the mood Bokuto had sunk into, Akaashi knew just how to coax him out of it to be in top form once again. When Akaashi got too stressed with schoolwork, Bokuto knew how and when to provide a welcome distraction. They balanced each other out, Hajime realized.

“Iwa-chan, if you think that hard all the time, your brain is going to shrivel up and fall out of your ear,” Oikawa announced matter-of-factly, marching into Hajime’s room and wrenching the videogame controller from his stiff hands. “I know you’ve been sitting in the dark this entire weekend. You’re going to turn into Kenma,” Oikawa huffed, plonking a spicy-smelling container down on Hajime’s desk.

  
“Is that agedashi tofu?” Hajime asked hopefully, slipping off his headphones in favor of sitting up on his bed and trying to reach for the food.

“Yes, but you won’t get it until you come outside and hang out with me, Iwa-chan. As soon as theater ended, you crawled into your cave and haven’t come out yet! It’s getting ridiculous,” Oikawa griped. “Plus, I know you’ve been avoiding me again.”

Hajime, his mouth already stuffed full of tofu, said, “I haven’t been avoiding you.” It came out as, “Ah haben in aboybing oo.”

“I miss you, Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa’s brutal honesty made Hajime put down his chopsticks with a sigh. It was now or never.

“Fine. You wanna know why I’ve been avoiding you, Tooru?”

A nod.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I think I might be in love with you, but I know that you’re _way_ out of my league and only like me as a friend. Sorry.”

  
There, that wasn’t that hard, was it? Who was he kidding, yes, it was. Hajime’s cheeks were a bright, flaming red. Where had this sudden courage emerged from?

  
“Iwa-chan, you’re so silly,” Oikawa said. Before Hajime could curl up in the nearest hole and die, Oikawa was grabbing his face and launching them move into a deep, messy kiss. As soon as they separated, arms curled around each other, Oikawa gave a happy little shriek. “Does this mean-“

“Hajime, will you be my boyfriend? I promise never to show off my ass in a dress ever again.”

  
  
A smirk crossed Hajime’s lips. “Ever?”

**Author's Note:**

> the west side story/hq cast list that no one asked for:
> 
> Oikawa – Maria (shark)  
> Kuroo – Tony (jet)  
> Bokuto – Riff (jet)  
> Kiyoko – Anita (shark)  
> Akaashi – Diesel (jet)  
> Kyoutani – Chino (shark)  
> Yui – Anybodys (jet)  
> Tendou – Doc  
> Terushima – Pepe (shark)  
> Misaki – Consuela (shark)  
> Yachi – Rosalia (shark)  
> Kenma – Francisca (shark)  
> Tanaka – Action (jet)  
> Yamaguchi – Glad hand  
> Kageyama – A-RAB, u/s María (jet)  
> Hinata – Baby John, u/s Riff (jet)  
> Daichi – Officer Krupke  
> Tsukishima – Detective Shrank


End file.
